


Beau and the Bionic Beast

by Almost_Convinced_I_Am_Real



Category: Daft Punk
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Fantasy, Hate to Love, M/M, Robot/Human Relationships, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-02 01:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10933878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Almost_Convinced_I_Am_Real/pseuds/Almost_Convinced_I_Am_Real
Summary: “You have come to take your father’s place.”The voice is hollow and otherworldly, fitting dreadfully well with the beast’s appearance. But that doesn’t matter. Guy-Man came here to save his father. Swallowing every ounce of fear, he lifts his chin to look directly at the beast.“Yes.”The beast studies him closely, head somewhat tilting to the right.“You realize that means you will have to stay here forever?” it asks.Guy-Man opens his mouth, with uncertain silence emerging. He stands, bringing himself closer to the beast’s level, his legs shaking.“Yes,” he breathes out.Beauty and the Beast AU with Guy-Man as the Beauty and Thomas as the mechanical Beast. Will be taking cues from both the original fairy tale and the (animated) Disney version.





	1. The Castle

“There you are!”

Guy-Man’s eyes are torn from the page, his attention automatically pulled towards the sudden exclamation. Paul is hanging halfway over the edge of the stone bridge Guy-Man is sitting beneath. His upside-down expression is triumphant, and slightly aggravating. Guy-Man feels his eyes narrow, but he does manage to hold in the sigh fighting to slip out. It had been so peaceful, no sounds other than the calm wind and the softly flowing brook a few feet away from him.

“You say it as if I’ve been hiding,” he says, returning to his book.

“Haven’t you?” Paul asks, dipping down some more.

“No. Why would I? And don’t lean so far, you’ll fall in.”

Paul snickers, then leans a little farther. “Rumor has it Leprince is looking for you.”

Against his better judgement, Guy-Man looks up again, eyebrow raised.

“He’s supposed to be _really_ angry.” Paul disappears momentarily, then reappears when he jumps from the bridge. One boot lands in the thin stream; Guy-Man barely succeeds in saving his book from the splashing water. “He’s going to beat you to a pulp for breaking Mlle. de Villeneuve’s heart.”

Guy-Man gets up with a snort, the book held securely under his arm.

“You can’t break something that doesn’t exist.”

“Don’t tell _me_ that – tell Leprince!”

“Where did he even get that idea?” Guy-Man asks as they start climbing the mound to get back onto the road. “Last time I saw her, her heart was certainly not broken.”

On the contrary – she was without doubt her… _usual_ self. A feeling of discomfort shoots through Guy-Man’s body as he thinks back to it.

“Well… That’s his _excuse_ , but everyone knows he’s upset that she turned down his marriage proposal… again,” Paul says while scratching his chin, then shrugs. “He just wants to beat you up, I think.”

Of course. He should know better than to expect any rationality from Leprince. Why solve a problem using your head when you have a pair of fists at your disposal? For a brief moment, he contemplates letting himself get caught by Leprince. Two black eyes would probably deter Mlle. de Villeneuve, at least for a while. It could be worth it.

They make it into town, past the blacksmith and the baker, and are almost out of the square when a loud shout penetrates the air.

“ _Guillaume!_ ”

Guy-Man tense up. A quiet groan escapes through his clenched teeth. Paul glimpses over his shoulder.

“I distract them while you run?” he offers. Guy-Man shakes his head in response.

“No, no… Let’s just get this over with.”

Turning, they’re met with a group of adolescents: women with colorful ribbons and over-powdered faces and men in fashionable breeches. The ones standing out are the Barbot brothers, short, with eyes too small for their faces, and the brawny Leprince, who as usual has left his doublet unbuttoned. He sends Guy-Man a heated glower, but that’s also all he does. The small woman in the middle of the group – whose dress is much more expensive than the others – runs up to them, her yellow locks bouncing, and throws herself around Guy-Man’s neck.

“Guillaume, I’ve been looking for you all day!” she says, tightening her grip even though he doesn’t hug her back.

“I’m sorry, Mlle. de Villeneuve, I wasn’t aware…” he says quietly.

She lets go with a sigh, but keeps her hands pressed against his chest.

“I’ve told you to call me Édith!” she says while giving him an exaggerated glare, brow puckered and lips pursed. It’s instantly replaced by a sugary smile. She begins to fiddle with his shirt, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles. “My father will arrange a ball at our estate in celebration of Mother’s birthday tomorrow. You and I will have the first two dances!”

She beams at him, her dainty hands holding his collar in an iron grip. Guy-Man merely stares at her for several seconds as he ransacks his brain for a plausible excuse.

“I’m sorry, Mlle. de Villeneuve, but… Father has asked us to assist him in the shop for the coming week.”

He casts a glance Paul’s way. Paul immediately starts nodding rapidly. The smile melts off Mlle. de Villeneuve’s face. Putting her hands on her hips, she rolls her eyes with a scoff. Behind her, Leprince has slowly crept closer. The Barbots waddle after to flank him in what is probably supposed to be a threatening manner.

“Tell him you must take one evening off!” Mlle. de Villeneuve snaps.

“I can’t, he needs my help-”

Guy-Man is interrupted by Leprince’s booming voice.

“Don’t bother with him, Édith! If he wants to waste time in that bankrupt place, let him!”

Apparently thinking that was some sort of witticism, Leprince burst into laughter, the others soon following suit. Mlle. de Villeneuve brings up a hand to cover her mouth, without actually masking the shrill giggling.

“If you must know, Leprince,” Guy-Man says as the laughter abates, his cheeks heating up, “our father’s business is going very well.”

Leprince’s mirth disappears; his features are pulled into an ugly sneer.

“Don’t lie! Everyone knows he’s ruined! Why, we’re making bets on when your mother will have to start _whoring_ herself out to pay the rent!”

“ _You take that back!_ ”

Paul lunges forward, fist raised, but is swiftly yanked back by Guy-Man. Leprince is laughing again, as is the others. Except Mlle. de Villeneuve. She is staring at Guy-Man as he drags Paul in the direction of their home, a coolly self-assured look in her eyes.

“I’ll be expecting you at the dance,” she says, her voice echoing over the laughter.

“I… I’ll consider it,” Guy-Man says, then hauls his little brother away before she has the chance to respond.

* * *

Their mother is singing as they enter the house. It’s an irregular tune that changes tempo several times, but it still sounds wonderful. Sadly, it abruptly stops when the front door closes with a thump.

“Boys? Is that you?” she calls. Paul prances down the hallway to the kitchen entrance, jumping into her view with his arms thrown up in the air.

“Indeed!”

She chuckles at his antics. Guy-Man rolls his eyes and lightly elbows his little brother in the ribs as he pushes past him. Turning back to the simmering pots on the stove, she asks them to set the table, since their father will be home soon. Like every day before this one, everything is ready at the exact moment the door opens. Guy-Man don’t know how it’s done, but for as long as he can remember, their mother has had dinner prepared precisely when their father comes home. Always, on the dot, like clockwork. The one time he asked their mother about it she told him routine was the secret, but he has to wonder if there isn’t something more to it. Sometimes it seems as if she can sense their father’s proximity to her, that she can feel what he’s feeling and thinking. But that’s ridiculous.

Their father lights up when he sees them, instantly taking his wife’s hands while kissing her cheek.

“How was work today?” she asks.

“Oh, like usual,” he says before sitting down and helping himself to a piece of boiled fish. She takes her seat opposite of him, both brows raised in a way that makes it obvious she’s waiting for him to elaborate. Which he doesn’t, seeing as he’s too busy focusing on his plate to notice her.

“And…?” she at last says. “That’s it?”

His absentminded gaze flutters up to meet her hopeful one. He shrugs. Her expression falls; she releases a drawn-out sigh. Their father reaches over to lovingly pat her hand, wearing a grand smile.

“But don’t worry, Ella! M. Chaussée came in today and told me he’s clinched that deal I told you about! We’ll ride to Beaumont-Suz tonight and be back in the morning!”

Their mother stares at him, then pulls her hand from his to press it against her forehead, groaning noisily.

“Francisco, no…”

“Don’t say that!” Their father is excited, leaning forward so much that he’s hovering a few centimeters above his seat, his eyes glowing. “This time will result in profit! I can feel it!”

Paul sends Guy-Man a look that requires no words from across the table. Guy-Man returns it from over the edge of his water glass. Their mother plants her elbows on the table, buries her face in both of her hands, and groans even louder.

* * *

The sun is setting by the time their father mounts their old mare. Bags with supplies hang from his saddle; his thickest cloak is tied around his neck. Down by the road, his companions M. Chaussée and M. Marmontel are waiting for him.

“I’ll be back at noon tomorrow,” he says, adjusting his hat. “After buying a few things in Beaumont-Suz. Do you want anything, while I’m there?”

“Is ‘you coming home safely’ too much to ask for?” their mother says, arms folded tightly and lips tugged into a teasing smile.

“A silk dress and matching shoes it is!” he proclaims. She shakes her head, laughing. He turns to his sons. “Boys?”

“A clarinet!” Paul straightaway says.

Their father frowns amusedly. “But you don’t play clarinet!”

“That’s because I don’t have one!”

Their father snickers at that, before looking at Guy-Man, who briefly contemplates saying ‘nothing’. He doesn’t want his father to feel forced to buy something after coming back empty-handed yet again. However, he also knows his father won’t accept that answer.

“A small lamp,” he says. “So that I can read late at night without waking the rest of you.”

His father snorts.

“How could I end up with such an overindulged family?” he asks the thin air, before kicking the mares’ sides and joining his crew.

Back inside the house, Paul continues upstairs, while their mother disappears into the kitchen to wash the last of the dishes. Guy-Man goes into the sitting room to put back his book in the bookcase and pick a new one for tomorrow. As he’s searching the rows for something he hasn’t read in a while, he hears faint cough from behind him. His mother is standing in the door opening, arms wrapped around herself.

“Guy-Manuel,” she says, voice so soft and serious it can only be bad news she’s come to share. She slowly walks over to the couch, sitting down heavily. Guy-Man swiftly follows suit. Her smile as she looks at him is painfully artificial. “You’ve undoubtedly noticed that things aren’t… _great_ for us. Our expenses are exceeding our incomes. Do you…” She closes her eyes, brow furrowed. Her hands clamp tightly in her lap. “Do you think you could ask M. Grétry for a raise at the wood shop?”

Her posture is tense, her facial features pulled taught around her big, glossy eyes. It hurts to see her this way, almost as much as it must hurt her to ask. Guy-Man swallows down a large lump in his throat before answering.

“I don’t think that’s an option,” he says quietly.

What little optimism her expression held vanishes. She leans forward on her knees, her shoulders slumping.

“I’m sorry-”

“No, no, it’s not, it’s not your fault,” she says, staring at the nothing in front of her. “I’ll come up with another solution…” A long silence falls over them as she thinks, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Perhaps… we can ask Mayor de Villeneuve for a loan? He’s a decent man, he would help… Aren’t you friends with his daughter?”

“Um…” Guy-Man averts his gaze to the floor, unsure of what to say. “Yes, I suppose we are…”

“Good, that’s good… I’ve heard they’re throwing a party this week. Do you know anything about that?”

“Yes, Mlle. de Villeneuve, she-” He cuts himself off, needing to gather himself before telling her. “She asked today that I dance the first two dances with her.”

His mother gasps, visible elated. He has to struggle not to wince.

“Oh, that- That-” Teary eyed, she grabs his hands. “Guy-Manuel, you know what she means by that, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes, I do,” he says, compelling himself to smile towards her. A second later she’s laughing in relief as she embraces him. After a brief hesitation, Guy-Man hugs her back, silently telling himself it’s all for the best.

* * *

The blackness surrounding them is all-consuming. The light from the lanterns, throwing tall shadows and highlighting the absurd shapes of the forest, only makes the darkness seem so much hungrier. Looking around, Francisco must ask himself if agreeing to take M. Marmontel’s shortcut wasn’t a bad idea after all.

“My friend, where are you taking us?” he asks.

“Yes, this shortcut is taking an awful long time,” M. Chaussée adds.

In front of them, M. Marmontel growls exasperatedly.

“Be patient! I’ve only taken this route during the daytime before, not nighttime!”

“In other words, this was a mistake,” M. Chaussée mutters under this breath so that only Francisco and the horses can hear. Francisco chuckles quietly, right as M. Marmontel makes a triumphant cry.

“Aha! Here we are! Down this hill, gentlemen, and we’ll be back on the road again!”

The steep hill mostly consists of loose earth. For large sections of it the horses nervously glide downwards. Thankfully, they all make it to solid ground in one piece. Just as M. Marmontel said there’s a road below, which they continue on. However, the farther they get, the heavier the terrain becomes. Trees growing with their limbs intertwined, large bushes jumping out onto the path and into their way, and logs stacked upon each other that the horses must jump over. The path is littered with weeds, as though was a very long time since anyone walked on it. Every additional step causes Francisco to doubt this is the right way; he’s proven right when the road ends in front of a huge castle. It’s made entirely out of metal, an enormous angular monstrosity that shoots out of the earth. Some spots shine beneath the moonlight, but most of the exterior appear to be covered in patches of rust.

“Where have you brought us?” M. Chaussée asks.

M. Marmontel slowly shakes his head. “I don’t know… Should we enter?”

Uncertain glances are exchanged between them.

“It’s late, and we’re lost. I don’t think we’ll become any less lost in this darkness,” he argues. “Even if it’s abandoned, we’ll have a roof over our heads while we await dawn.”

“I suppose that’s true…” Francisco says.

“Then it’s settled,” M. Marmontel says, dismounting his steed.

The inside is slightly better than the outside. A thick layer of dirt coats every surface, and every piece of furniture is as metallic as the castle itself. Hearing a low whirring sound, Francisco looks to the ground, and jumps in surprise as he sees small creatures circling his feet. At first, they appear to be mice, but soon he realizes they’re not animals at all – they’re small, round, mechanical objects. After racing a few laps around the three men, they zoom out of the hallway in a straight line.

“What was that?!” M. Chaussée asks.

“Looked a bit like toys!” Francisco says.

They carry on farther into the castle. Apart from their echoing footsteps, it’s as quiet as a grave, and just about as dark. The chill of the atmosphere seep through their clothes. Every few seconds, Francisco thinks sees something in the corner of his eye – a moving shadow, a short-lived gleam – but each time he looks he finds nothing there. He tries telling himself it’s just his imagination, but still can’t shake off the feeling that something is watching them.

After what seems to be hours of exploring, they finally come across a room which has the curtains pulled aside. The moonlight pouring in through the giant windows reveal they’re standing in a library, with bookcases covering every wall, from floor to ceiling.

“This is a goldmine!” Laughing, M. Chaussée pulls out a book to read its title. “Why, this library alone would give us the means to live like kings for the rest of our lives!”

M. Marmontel snicker in agreement. Francisco pulls out a book of his own. It’s surprisingly clean compared to the remainder of the castle, not a speck of dust on it. Almost as if someone had read it not too long ago.

A crash interrupts his thoughts. He starts, dropping his lantern to the ground, where it’s smashed to bits. Turning, he sees a tall, skeletal shape in the gloom. It rushes towards them, feet clanking against the floor. Before any of them has time to react, the shape picks up M. Chaussée, rips the book from his hand, and effortlessly hurls him several meters away. It swivels to M. Marmontel, marching up to him with heavy steps. He begins to stutter out an explanation, an excuse, a plea of mercy, holding his arms up to shield himself. The shape doesn’t slow down, instead striking M. Marmontel’s head, sending him flying to the ground. Shaking, Francisco presses himself against the bookcase, wishing he could turn incorporeal and phase through it. Should he run? Could he outrun it? Deciding he has nothing to lose, he makes a dash to the side, only to have an ice-cold fist wrap its fingers around his throat and lift him off the ground. The grip is relentless, squeezing the life out of him. A bit firmer and it could probably snap his neck.

“Pl-please, I have a family!” he wheezes out. “I have a wife and sons!”

The shape halts its movement, its grip lessening slightly. It stares at him, motionless.

“Sons?” it says, in a voice that isn’t from this world. Too cold; too flat.

“Yes!” Francisco says, gasping for air. Could it be it’s not completely monstrous, despite its appearance? Could he awaken its empathy? “Th-the oldest, he, he would enjoy this library! He’s mentioned-”

“How old is he?” The voice is still callous, having practically gained a businesslike quality.

Francisco gulps as well as he can. “E-eighteen.”

The shape brings him closer to it, forcing him to look directly into what he guesses is its eyes. The face is sharp and hard, just like the castle itself.

“ _Interesting_.”


	2. The Beast

Guy-Man makes his way up the stairs with heavy steps. Music flows out from his and Paul’s room; Paul is lying on his bed, strumming along on the gittern while crooning softly. He draws in a deep breath as Guy-Man enters, exaggeratedly sniffing the air.

“Ah, yes. The scent of despair. Felt it even before you came in.”

Ignoring him, Guy-Man walks over to his bed and flops onto the mattress. Sitting up, Paul puts down the gittern while giving Guy-Man a searching look.

“You’re not actually going to marry her, are you?”

Guy-Man’s gaze briefly flickers in Paul’s direction, then returns to stare listlessly at the ceiling. He makes an apathetic shrug.

“We need the money.”

“It can’t be that bad!”

“It is that bad.”

“But we can make it! We can… sell the old-”

“We’re not selling our possessions!”

He glares at Paul, who glares back just as severely.

“So you’ll marry little Mademoiselle Snob instead? You hate her! And what about your dreams? I thought you wanted to go to Paris to-”

A single, sharp look from Guy-Man silences him. Guy-Man would like to retort, but since he has no adequate reply he simply lets his head slump back down to his pillow. From the corner of his eye he sees Paul watch him with incredulity. At last, he shakes his head and picks up the gittern.

“Well, at least she’s pretty,” he mutters as he starts playing again.

Guy-Man continues staring at the ceiling, attempting to bore his gaze through both it and the sky above. What he wouldn’t give to be anywhere but here.

* * *

They’re all awakened in the middle of the night by a hard knock on the door. After telling them to stay put, their mother rushes downstairs to let the late-night visitor in. Frantic voices travel upwards. It sounds like M. Chaussée and M. Marmontel, but they shouldn’t be back in town until later today. Guy-Man and Paul exchange a quick look. They’re both thinking the same thing.

Their mother is on the couch in the sitting room, looking agitated. Chaussée is in the armchair, face pallid. His eyes anxiously dart between Mother and Marmontel, who’s standing with his arms crossed and his expression harshly solemn.

“Why won’t you tell me where Francisco is?” she asks. She’s attempting to be calm, but can’t keep the piercing fear from edging her words. “Why isn’t he with you? Chaussée, tell me!”

Chaussée seems to be about to comply, when he notices Guy-Man and Paul in the doorway.

“Boys, go back upstairs,” he says, voice croaky. Guy-Man narrows his eyes at him.

“No.”

“ _Please_ leave us! This is-”

“No,” Marmontel interrupts. “Let them stay. They need to hear this too.”

Chaussée slumps in the chair, looking to be in agony, but doesn’t argue. Marmontel gestures for them to enter the room. Paul hurries over to their mother, clasping her hands. Guy-Man remains standing, positioning himself opposite Chaussée and catching his gaze.

“Where is Father?” he asks, refusing to break eye contact.

Chaussée swallows loudly, then sighs.

“We came upon a castle in the forest. We entered, thinking it was empty, but it, it wasn’t empty, there…” He pauses, clutching his heart whilst struggling for breath. Guy-Man peers over at Marmontel to see if he’ll take over, but Marmontel is somewhere else, staring forlornly at the air in front of him. Chaussée inhales sharply, managing to gather himself. “There was a _monster!_ It threw us out and took, took Francisco captive!”

“ _Monster?!_ ”

Paul’s outcry is enough to make Guy-Man flinch. Their mother, on the other hand, sits perfectly still, expressionless. Chaussée pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his face and muffling his words as he continues to speak.

“It said, it said that it will trade Francisco for… for…”

“For Guillaume.”

Marmontel, having snapped out of his earlier state, looks at Guy-Man. His face is calm, almost cold, but his eyes are filled with distress. The room is silent until Paul jumps up from his seat.

“Why should we listen to that, that…” He cuts himself off with a snarl. “Why don’t we go there, kill the monster, and bring Father back?!”

Chaussée emits a tiny whimper at his words. Marmontel simply shakes his head.

“Impossible,” he says. “It tossed us around like rag dolls. We can’t defeat it.”

Paul’s face contorts itself into a frustrated, furious grimace. Mother still hasn’t said anything, and neither has Guy-Man. An intense chill constantly tears through his body, but other than that he can’t feel anything. His mind is a blank, surrounded by thick, frozen fog.

Trade Father… for him? Why. For what purpose. What is this… monster’s objective?

A tear rolls down Mother’s cheek. She’s quivering. Guy-Man draws in a deep breath.

“I’ll go.”

His words seemingly jerk Mother back to life. She runs up to him, tears now flowing, and sobbingly tells him not to between jagged gasps of air. He cups her face, thumbs brushing against wet cheeks.

“Don’t worry – it’ll be fine!” he says, trying to sound confident and not like he’d wish to break down as well. “I’ve made my decision. Father will come back and then you’ll be fine!”

At last she gives up, embracing him as she hides her weeping face in his chest. He swathes his arms around her, holding her so tightly he’s probably hurting her. Paul is standing next to them, blinking with a vacuous look on his face. Guy-Man looks at Marmontel.

“Will you show me the way?”

Marmontel nods.

* * *

It starts snowing during the trip to the castle. At first the minuscule flakes melt the instant they hit the ground, but after two hours of riding a fine, white layer covers the soil beneath them. It doesn’t slow them down, though – in fact, at one point it allows them to slide down a hill at a worrying pace. At the bottom of the hill, Marmontel stops.

“This road leads straight to the castle,” he says, motioning towards the overgrown path in front of them. He looks at Guy-Man, eyes uneasy and posture stiff. “I’m sorry, Guillaume, but I really don’t want to… Well…”

“I understand.” Driving his heels into his horse’s sides, Guy-Man continues down the trail. “Stay here and wait for Father,” he calls over his shoulder. “Make sure he returns home safely.”

Marmontel nods, dismounting his horse. Guy-Man manages to catch a glance of him as he stands in the slowly piling snow, rigidly holding his reins, but soon enough the night swallows him, leaving Guy-Man completely alone.

The journey lasts an eternity and is over in the blink of an eye. Finally, he arrives at the castle. It looks precisely the way Chaussée described it: large, cruel, cold. The inside is just as bad. Truth be told, it’s almost worse. It seems like the interior is even darker and chillier than the forest, as though the frost from outside magnifies as it travels through the walls. He makes it through half the foyer in absolute, unwelcoming silence, when a soft whirring catches his attention. On the floor a dozen small widgets run in circles around his feet, before speeding off into an adjacent room. Guy-Man forces himself to ignore it – he doesn’t have time to get distracted – and carries on towards the large door at the end of the hallway. But before he reaches it, the little widgets return to circle him, then disappear into the same room again. Guy-Man frowns. Do they want him to follow them? After a moment’s consideration, Guy-Man chooses the same doorway the widgets had done. The room is equally dark, but far off he can hear the whirring. The widgets spin around in a perfect circle on the other end of the room, until he’s almost caught up with them, at which point they dash off yet again. It continues for several rooms, only stopping when they arrive in front a staircase made out of stone. The widgets bang themselves into the foot of the stairs, unable to actually climb it. Stepping over them, Guy-Man begins ascending the stairs. The whirring ceases the instant he does.

Halfway up he realizes he’s actually missing the little critters and their annoying buzzing. The whole castle is suspended in a silence so strong it could drive you insane. It’s like the darkness absorbs all sounds, every footstep and every breath, in order to make you feel even more alone than you already are. Despair washes over Guy-Man. What if it’s a lie? A trap? What if nothing awaits him at the top? Or worse – what if-

He arrives at the top without finishing the thought. It’s as murky as the first floor, but by now his eyes have accustomed themselves to the gloom. He’s in a tower, small cells lining the walls. In the one right in front of him, something is groaning. He rushes towards it, kneeling down and gripping the cold bars, prepared to rip them off their hinges if he so must.

“Father!” he whispers. “Father, is that you?”

The figure quietens, visibly stiffening where it lies. Then it gasps, and begins crawling up to him.

“Guy-Manuel!” his father says, pressing his dirty face against the iron rods. “You must leave now! The monster-”

“I’m not leaving, father.” Guy-Man reaches through the bars, clutching his father’s hand. It’s stiff and cold, like a corpse’s limb. “I’m here to free you.”

His father shakes his head viciously whilst emitting tiny whimpers.

“No, no, no, no! You don’t know what that beast is capable of! You have to leave bef-”

He falls silent; what little color is left in his face vanishes. His enlarged eyes stare at something behind Guy-Man. His breath hitching in his throat, he gyrates and finds himself face to face with the beast.

It’s big but spindly, its whole body encased in black iron. The limbs and fingers, while uncannily slim, still gives the impression of being more than able to break your back with a single strike. The face is empty, with nothing but darkness where the eyes should have been. It takes a step forward.

“You are Guillaume.”

The voice is hollow and otherworldly, fitting dreadfully well with the beast’s appearance. But that doesn’t matter. Guy-Man came here to save his father. Swallowing every ounce of fear, he lifts his chin to look directly at the beast.

“Yes.”

“You have come to take your father’s place.”

“Yes.”

The beast studies him closely, head somewhat tilting to the right.

“You realize that means you will have to stay here forever?” it asks.

Guy-Man opens his mouth, with uncertain silence emerging. His father grabs his arm through the bars, hissing he must stop and leave immediately. Ignoring the pleas, Guy-Man gently wriggles out of the grip. He stands, bringing himself closer to the beast’s level, his legs shaking.

“Yes,” he breathes out.

The beast inclines its head in a halfway nod.

“Good. Step aside, please.”

Still trembling like a leaf in the wind and with no control over his body, Guy-Man doesn’t step aside. The beast, seeming impatient, takes hold of his shoulders and forcibly moves him out of the way. Guy-Man ends up leaned against the wall as the beast unlocks his father’s cell, feeling dizzy. He inhales – deeply – and waits a few seconds before exhaling again. Watching the beast pick up his father to carry him out of the cell, he reaches out – to clutch his father’s hand, to caress his cheek, to touch him one last time – but the beast hauls him down the stairs before he has the chance.

He sprints after them, stumbling down the staircase, through the rooms and the hallways. In the distance, buried beneath his own frantic panting, he hears the beast’s heavy steps and his father’s croaky begging. The castle is an even darker maze than previously; by the time he’s made it out to the courtyard, his father is gone. Seated on a galloping horse, he slowly disappears out of sight.

Gone.

Guy-Man sinks to his knees, the whole world spinning. He’s… He’s alone now. Alone, with only the beast as company. A wave of nausea washes over him. He needs to use his hands to steady himself in order not to completely collapse on the ground.

“Are you hungry?”

His head snaps back up. The beast passes him where he sits, its gait calm and its tone almost conversational. He follows its form with his eyes as it easily begins walking up the steps to the front entrance. He clenches his fists, dirt welling up between his fingers.

“You… You couldn’t even let me say goodbye to him?!”

The beast stops, halting every movement as its stiffens like a statue. A second filled with an eternity goes by without a single sound. Then its long fingers encircle the door handle.

“This way,” it says, leaving the door wide open for him after stepping inside.

It takes him time, but after much hesitation he gets to his feet and goes back inside, if only because the biting night breeze becomes too much for him. In the dining room, dinner is already served. Several different dishes are laid out at the table, with only a half-burnt candle in each corner to light up the entire room. The beast stands by the short end of the table, hands clasped behind its back, staring at him. Guy-Man stares back with all the courage he can muster.

“Please sit,” it says, its voice echoing tough the empty castle. After hanging back for a moment longer, he does. The beast seats itself opposite of him, propping its elbows on the tabletop and resting its head on its hands in an almost human manner. It watches him as he sits immobile in his chair. “Please eat.”

Guy-Man isn’t at all hungry, but he doubts disobedience will be appreciated. He grabs the thing closest – a bread roll – and begins tearing into pieces on his plate. The beast continues to observe him, head once again peculiarly tilted.

“This is your home now,” it says. “And since it is your home, you are allowed to go anywhere you please – except for the basement.”

Guy-Man lifts his gaze from the scraps of bread, brow knitted with wariness.

“What’s in the basement?”

“Waste,” the beast says quickly. “It is very cluttered, and things fall over all the time. One might end up buried.” The beast shifts positions, folding its arms and leaning forward even more. “But enough of that – tell me something about yourself.”

The request takes Guy-Man by surprise, almost making him jump in his seat. He looks at the beast with wide eyes, before they slowly narrow with suspicion.

“Your father mentioned he had sons,” the beast says, either ignoring or not noticing his reaction. “Do you have a brother? Or more?”

“I can’t see how that’s important for you to know,” Guy-Man says, not making the slightest effort to hide the hostility in his tone.

“It is not. I am simply curious.”

“Then you won’t mind me not answering,” Guy-Man mutters, returning to picking apart the bread roll.

The beast leans back, tapping a finger against its arm rest. “How about the remainder of your family? Or can you tell me something about your village? Perhaps the-”

“I’m tired.” Guy-Man abruptly stands, pushing out the chair with an earsplitting screech. “I would like to go to bed.”

The beast looks at him silently, becoming immobile like it did outside. So much time passes with Guy-Man obstinately glaring back into the empty face that he starts worrying he might’ve gone too far, that the beast’s patience has run out. But then it too stands, gesturing towards the door they came from.

“I will show you to your room,” it says, then proceeds to lead him to an extremely unventilated corridor on the fourth floor. They stop outside a mostly intact door, with merely a bit of wood chipped away above the handles.

The bedroom is big, probably more than twice the size of his and Paul’s room at home. The windows are wide and long, nearly stretching from ceiling to floor. A canopy with thick green drapes hang over the bed, which is made out of black mahogany. In one corner, a large wardrobe stands, filled with clothes that appear to be in Guy-Man’s size. After telling him to let it know if he needs anything, the beast closes the door and leaves.

The first thing Guy-Man does is open a window, to replace the stale air. He sits on the window sill, considering his escape. Getting out the window-way is out of the question – the fall would surely kill him if he jumped. It’s also unnecessary since the beast left the door unlocked. However, there’s something in the back of his head keeping him from trying. Firstly, the road home is long, and the temperature is dropping. His horse disappeared with his father. He’d rather not think about what the beast might’ve done to their old mare. Moreover, there’s the fact that the beast has said nothing about it. There’s been no warnings, no threats about what will happen should he attempt to flee. It’s as if there’s an understanding between them – _you promised you’ll stay, and stay you will_. Besides, judging by how fast the beast was earlier, even if he tried to run he guesses he’d be instantly caught.

Sighing, he closes the window. Might as well sleep, and decide what to do tomorrow. The sheets are cold but clean, and the duvet is thick enough to keep him warm during the night. He climbs into the bed, so exhausted that not even the occasional loud hammering noises from further down in the castle keeps him from dozing off.

* * *

Guy-Man wakes up determined the next morning. He will spend the day exploring the castle, looking for anything that might aid him. If he finds nothing, he will simply have to wait out the cold weather before escaping. Then, if the beast comes after him, he’ll hide from it, for several nights if he must, in the woods prior to making it back to the village. He won’t be able to do that while the temperature goes below zero during the nights, however. So, he will wait, playing along with the beast’s game until the opportunity arrives.

The beast is nowhere to be seen. Neither is most of the castle for that matter. Even in the middle of the day the heavy curtains prevent any light from entering. He spends the first hour after breakfast pulling aside the curtains in every room he enters. He finds a lot while doing it – offices, sitting rooms, small bedrooms fitting for servants, etc. Unfortunately, none of it is in any way helpful to him. The only thing of interest he does find is a door that most certainly leads to the basement. He stands in front of it for a long time, contemplating what might be behind it. At last, he reaches out to grab the handle, only to find it unwilling to bend. He can’t help but quietly grumble to himself as he walks away from it. Why bother forbidding him from going there if you’ll just keep the door locked anyways?

It takes another two hours of searching before he finds something worthy of his time – the library. It’s enormous, made up of no less than three different floors, with spiraling stairs connecting the levels. Thick pillars help carry the tall ceiling, flowers and snaky patterns fashioned into each column. It’s beautiful, airy, and suspiciously clean when compared to the rest of the castle. The dark, wooden furniture glisten as if polished not long ago. The windows sparkle when the sunrays strike them. Every book he as much as glances at appears to have recently been lovingly dusted. And the books themselves… They’re simply too many to count. Some of them are in different languages, many of them by authors he’s never heard of, and all of them are absolutely fascinating. Shortly, he has a pile of books picked out that he uses to fill the remainder of the afternoon. Hours pass, the sun soon setting and forcing him to hunt around the room for a candle. He’s not even one fourth through the pile when the doors creak open.

“Your father mentioned you would enjoy this library,” the beast says. Guy-Man hums in reply, not looking up from the novel he’s currently reading. Not that the beast seems to care. “It is time for supper, if you want it.”

Guy-Man briefly considers saying no, but the void in his stomach convinces him not to. The supper plays out very much like it did the previous night: he’s presented with a myriad of dishes – meat, bread, cheese, even fruit – while the beast attempts to ask him questions. What were you reading? Did you enjoy it? Do you usually read? Do you wish to pursue a career that has anything to do with books? What else do you do in your spare time? And once again Guy-Man refuses to answer every single one. He’s actually rather surprised by how accepting the beast is of it all, never pressing him or becoming exasperated. When supper is over it wishes him a good evening, then vanishes into one of the castle’s many hallways.

Once again, the place is shrouded in darkness, but since Guy-Man is far from tired yet he decides to return to the library and read for as long as he can. Taking a small candle holder to lead his way, he sets out to find the way back to the reading room. He swiftly becomes completely lost. Wandering around for a while, he soon comes upon a door he hopes will lead him at the very least in the right direction, only to end up in a room he’s never been in.

The whole room is filled with statues, leaving nary a patch of floor uncovered. Some small, some big, some the same size as him, some depicting humans, others sculpted into things he can’t name. They’re all very masterfully crafted, but it’s the one in the middle of the room that catches his attention, for no other reason than it’s missing its head. The body is human-sized, tall and slender, standing proudly straight-backed with its hands resting on its hips. It’s a shame it’s broken, Guy-Man thinks as he turns to leave, and nearly trips over something on the ground. It turns out to be a head, well, half a head really, made out of stone. The statues head! Filled with resolve, Guy-Man instantly sets out to locate the other half. He does so at the other end of the room, beneath a small wooden bench. Together the two pieces creates the face of a handsome young man. Guy-Man can’t understand why anyone would have wanted to destroy it. Carefully placing the two halves by the statue’s feet, he makes a second attempt at leaving. Not only does he succeed – he finally turns up in a corridor he recognizes too!

By the time he reaches the library, the same noises from the previous night have begun again, reverberating through the entire castle. In fact, it’s so loud that it’s distracting. Despite doing his best to block out the blare, he must admit defeat. The reading will have to continue in the morning. But then, as he’s on his way to his bedroom, the noise stops. Making a rapid decision, he spins around, hurrying towards the area the sound was coming from. He arrives at the basement door the moment it’s swung open. The beast emerges and, not noticing Guy-Man in the corner where he’s hiding, leaves the door wide open. Guy-Man draws a breath in excitement. Should he? It’s obvious the beast was lying about what’s down there, but should he take the risk?

He makes up his mind in no time.

The staircase is narrow, windy, and steep. He half-expected the lowest level to be as cold if not colder than the upper ones, but the basement is actually quite warm. Before long, he comes upon the secret the beast didn’t want him to see: machinery.

Hiding behind a frail wooden door at the bottom of the stairs, in a room dimly lit by numerous torches fastened to the walls, are big husks of metal. Tools, kegs, wires, and many other things are lying haphazardly strewn about. The biggest of the machines is positioned in the middle of it all, next to a dusty slab. What is the beast _doing_ with all of this?

Slowly, Guy-Man crawls closer to the machinery, the only thing accompanying his breaths a steady dripping somewhere in the background. He extends a careful hand towards it.

And that’s when the door is flung open.

 


End file.
